Interpellation
by KatherineLynn
Summary: "It's been seven years, Miss Granger," Malfoy said. "That boy doesn't exist anymore."
1. Seven Years

**A/N – Summary: This fic takes place seven years after the final battle. Voldemort has been defeated, so on and so forth. Most of the deaths stand, with the exception of Remus Lupin. In this fic, Hermione works in the Department of Care of Magical Creatures as assistant to the head, Lupin. She gets a visit from Malfoy, who asks her to help him with a business assignment. As she does so, she realizes that this Malfoy is not the Malfoy she once knew.**

**Other things you need to know: This is a Dramione fic, and it will have a happy ending. This is not a Ron bashing fic, though he does act a little stupid sometimes. Harry and Ginny are married and have their first baby, Albus. Hermione's parents are around; she went to find them after the war. Malfoy is a little OOC, if you count him maturing as out of character. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I just write when I procrastinate. **

**Chapter One: Seven Years**

"Miss Granger?" Annie Whitman poked her head into Hermione's office. "You have a visitor."

Hermione's head was low, close to her desk, her quill scribbling across the parchment. She had just finished a case and was anxious to get the paperwork done before she forgot any pertinent details. A job in the Department of Care of Magical Creatures entailed a very studious eye for small, innocuous details that Hermione was perfect for, and within three years of taking her first job in the department, she had already been promoted to assistant to the head, Remus Lupin.

"If they don't have an appointment, I don't have the time, Annie, tell them I apologize and to make an appointment," Hermione said, her eyes never straying from the paper.

After writing for a few more seconds and realizing that Annie hadn't moved, Hermione put down her quill and focused her eyes on her secretary. "Who is it, Annie?"

Annie looked nervous now. "He has a letter from the Minister, he's insisting that he see you immediately, even though he doesn't have an appointment, I'm sorry, Miss Granger –"

Hermione pushed some tendrils of chocolate hair out of her face, "Annie, _who_ is it?" She asked again.

"Draco Malfoy."

Hermione focused even more, everything in the room becoming sharper. She noticed that Annie's hair had been hurriedly pulled back, indicating that she had been trying to preen once she noticed who was standing in the office, which meant she found Draco Malfoy attractive. She noticed that Annie's eyes also kept darting back out to the lobby and back to her boss, indicating that she was scared of both Malfoy and Hermione. Hermione stacked a book on top of her paperwork, to keep the parchment from rolling up and simultaneously concealing the details of the mission.

"Send him in," she ordered. Annie nodded once and scurried out.

Moments later, Malfoy was strutting through her office door while Annie held it open for him, barely even bestowing a 'thank you' upon the secretary before focusing on Hermione, who was sitting at her desk, trying to look less than annoyed.

"Miss Granger," he said in way of greeting.

"Malfoy," she replied in the same, bored tone.

"I have a letter from the Minister," he said, holding out the aforementioned white flag. "Or else I wouldn't be here."

Hermione cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. "Are you going to make me read the letter from the Minister, or are you going to tell me why you're interrupting my very busy schedule?"

"Your very busy schedule of paperwork?" Malfoy answered slyly. "My, my, sounds like you haven't changed at all since Hogwarts." As Hermione opened her mouth to retort, Malfoy continued, "But I'm not here to argue with you. I'm here for business."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware that you had a job at the Ministry of Magic," she said, not unkindly. "I thought…once your father was put in Azkaban –"

"It's true that obtaining this job was…difficult," Malfoy looked like his dress robes were suffocating him; he pulled his necktie away from his throat with his index finger so hard his pale finger turned bright red, "But I work for the International Department of Magical Cooperation, and I'm here to formally request your assistance on my newest assignment."

Hermione was taken aback at how straight-backed and uptight Malfoy sounded. "What happened to the amazing bouncing ferret?" She asked, a laugh in her voice.

Malfoy didn't smile. "That was seven years ago, Miss Granger. That boy does not exist anymore."

**~~DM&HG~~**

It had been seven years. Seven years since Harry had sacrificed himself to kill Voldemort; seven years since the deaths of Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, Dobby, Severus Snape, and so many others. Eight years since the death of Albus Dumbledore. It had been seven years full of despair, chaos, and a bitter aftermath that left the wizarding population of Britain scarred and mistrusting.

Ginny Weasley was now Ginny Potter, and she and Harry lived in a flat in Godric's Hollow, where their first son, Albus Severus Potter, was learning to walk. Harry and Ginny had gotten engaged three weeks after the end of the war, and married less than a year after that. Hermione had been the maid of honor, Ron the best man.

Ron and Hermione had dated exclusively for five of the seven years following the war, until Hermione's job took her out of the country too often for his liking. In pure Ron fashion, he began trying out for multiple professional Quidditch teams, so that he could spend as much time away from their shared apartment as she did. He was finally chosen for the Lighting Warriors, a new team created in Harry's legacy. In less than six months, Hermione and Ron's relationship had fallen apart.

He hadn't cheated on her, he didn't beat her, he didn't do anything wrong. They had been, as Hermione kept telling herself, in two different places in their lives. Ron was still being 24, going to parties, playing Quidditch, and having his mother do his laundry. Hermione, on the other hand, had been ready to settle down and start a family.

In those seven years, she hadn't heard much about the Malfoys other than what the tabloids had been saying. Immediately following the war, Death Eaters were rounded up in droves to go to trial for their crimes against their country. Many were sentenced to death, but a few, Lucius Malfoy included, were given life sentences in Azkaban. Narcissa Malfoy had faced trial as well, but the Wizengamot had acquitted her due to her lie that ultimately turned the tide of the final battle.

It was Draco Malfoy's trial that had gotten the most publicity. He testified that he was a spy for the Order, though the only two people that knew about it, Snape and Dumbledore, were both dead and neither could vouch for his character. Several people from Hogwarts testified that he indeed possessed the Dark Mark and had killed Muggles, which put the youngest Malfoy's life in peril.

It was Luna Lovegood that saved his life. She testified before the Wizengamot that during her imprisonment in Malfoy Manor, wherein she faced torture, starvation, and severe interrogation, she had only survived because Malfoy snuck her food, water, and pain alleviation potions that kept her sane and able-bodied.

"He always came in a mask," she had said dreamily, "But I could see him in his eyes."

That had been the tagline of his entire trial, a circus that the tabloids exploited for years following his acquittal. Malfoy found it so unbearable that he fled to France, or at least that was the rumor. Hermione Granger had heard no more of Draco Malfoy until that day, when he stepped into her office.

And she had to admit, she wasn't sure what to make of him. It was hard to be snide and cruel to someone who refused to reply in kind. So, instead of kicking him out of her office, she invited him to have coffee with her in the cafeteria of the Ministry, as a gesture of good faith.

He took his coffee black, with two sugars, something she could have guessed based on his severe appearance. His black dress robes were customary with politicians, Aurors, and Severus Snape. Hermione herself took to wearing Muggle business attire rather than robes. That day, she was dressed in a lilac colored blouse and a grey pencil skirt, her unruly hair pinned back in a messy chignon.

She ordered her own coffee, a latte with extra sugar, and took the seat across from Malfoy. She watched him intently as he fastened the top on his travel cup and waited for him to speak.

"I work, primarily, with two very important people here in Britain," he said, not looking at her. "They have recommended you as the most competent witch to help me accomplish this task, and I do believe, despite past prejudices, that they are right."

Hermione felt a compulsory need to thank him, but refrained. "Who are these two people?"

"Minister Kingsley Shaklebolt and Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall," Malfoy replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Hermione's brows furrowed, as they always did while she was thinking, and Malfoy hid his customary smirk behind his cup.

Hermione didn't notice; she was too busy trying to figure out what task would entail the Ministry, Hogwarts, Malfoy and herself. "Why would they need me?" She asked instead. "Between the two of them, they could do just about anything."

Malfoy leaned a little closer to the table, and Hermione followed suit. "They want to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament," he said softly. His breath smelled like coffee. "They've been facing scrutiny from other countries, ones more…stable than our own. They think we're weak, and they want to showcase that on a global scale."

Hermione was shocked. "They want to –" her voice went shrill; she took a deep breath and started again. "They want to bring back the Tournament? After Cedric?"

Malfoy shrugged. "They, Kingsley and Minerva, don't want to bring it back at all. But they've been saying no for three years now, the other schools are getting cocky. They think this is one of the ways we can build international relations while witches and wizards are still young and, at the same time, show the other countries that Britain is wounded, but still breathing."

Hermione found herself smiling. "You've thought a lot about this, haven't you, Malfoy?"

"I had to, seeing as I had to get you on board," he answered easily. "I didn't think you'd go for it."

She sighed. "I don't want to," she admitted. "The Tournament is dangerous."

"But ruining international relations would be even more so," Malfoy reasoned.

Hermione quirked her lips, Malfoy smirked. "What?"

"I can see the wheels turning in your head, Miss Granger, and that means you're going to agree. What will people say when they see you and me working together on something like this?" Malfoy asked.

"I'm not too buggered with what the press will say about us, we need to worry about what they'll report on the Tournament," Hermione said, all business, but a nagging worry tugged at her all the same.

**~~DM&HG~~**

It was early in the morning. Much, much too early for a Saturday morning, one Hermione had designated for sleeping in. At much, much too early on a Saturday morning, Hermione was woken from her deep slumber to the sound of someone Flooing into her apartment.

"Hermione Jean Granger, get your arse out of bed!" Came the shout from the living room. Hermione swung her feet into her slippers and shuffled into her lounge, where Ronald Weasley was waiting, dressed in his Quidditch practice uniform, brandishing the _Daily Prophet _like a madman.

"Hello, Ronald, how nice to see you," Hermione said sarcastically. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She filled her kettle with water and set it on the stove, Muggle style.

Ron rolled his eyes. "No, I do not bloody want a cup of tea! Mione, what is this?" He waved the newspaper in front of her eyes again. She snatched it out of his hand roughly and stared at the front page uncomprehendingly.

"This is a newspaper, Ronald," she replied arrogantly. "Did you really need to wake me up to ask me that?"

"Turn to page three," he snapped.

"Nice to see you too, by the way," Hermione muttered under her breath as the kettle began to screech. She poured the water into her teacup and shuffled, heavy shouldered, to the dining room table.

She hadn't even added honey to her tea before Ron slapped the paper down on the table in front of her, open to page three. At the top of the page, in bold letters, was Ron's huge attitude problem, in the form of a gossip article.

**Gold and Black the new color of love? **

Underneath the vague title was a grainy picture of Malfoy and Hermione while they were having coffee, leaning in close to each other's cheeks. Hermione could tell this was the moment that Malfoy told her about the Tournament; her face flushed, and she looked surprised. But to an outsider, they looked cozy, certainly familiar.

Below the picture was the article:

_Miss Hermione Granger, Assistant Head of the Care of Magical Creatures Department, had an intimate coffee date with none other than accused Death Eater and reformed blood supremacist Draco Malfoy on Tuesday afternoon. Could it be that blood purity means nothing to the young Malfoy now that he has laid eyes on the Muggleborn war heroine? _

_Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger could not be reached for comment, but a source inside the Ministry revealed to this reporter that Mr. Malfoy has had his eye on Miss Granger for some time, and has simply been waiting for his moment. _

_What do you think, readers? Do you support the mixture of gold and black? Can light and dark really make nice in light of all that has happened? And, most importantly, where is Hermione's boyfriend, Ron Weasley? _

Hermione rolled her eyes and folded the paper neatly, not bothering to answer Ron's blotchy red face. She sipped her tea slowly, savoring the taste, and flipped the newspaper to the front page, where she serenely began to read the article on Hogwarts' staff changes. She could vaguely see Ron fidgeting out of the corner of her eye and had to fight the urge to grin. Serves him right for waking her up.

She was just about to turn the page when he snatched the paper out of her hand.

"Hey!" She exclaimed. "You woke me up on the weekend just to accuse me of something that was completely none of your concern, you could at least let me read the paper."

Ron wasn't listening. "Is it true?" He asked hotly.

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Ron, did you suffer a recent blow to the head?" She asked sweetly.

Ron looked confused. "No."

"Did _I_ recently suffer a blow to the head?"

"No."

"Did you somehow magically forget that you and I have not been dating for two years?"

"No, but Mione –"

"Then you can take your paper, your muddy shoes, and get out of my apartment," she said firmly. "I don't need to answer any of your questions, Ronald. They're founded in unnecessary jealousy."

"But the article –"

Hermione cut him off. "The _article_ doesn't know that we broke up two years ago because _you_ asked me to keep it quiet. I did that for you. Now do this for me."

Ron's face was less red, but his ears still looked aflame. "If there's nothing going on, then why are you kicking me out?"

"Because it is 6 a.m. and I want to go back to sleep!" Hermione shouted. "Go!" And with a feeling reminiscent of kicking her cat out of her room, she shoved Ron into the fireplace and Flooed him back to his training center.

In her flurry of movement, she managed to reclaim the newspaper from Ron's hand; she peered at the picture of herself and Malfoy for a few moments. Malfoy's face had, with age, gotten less pointed and more square, his white blonde hair was short, but well groomed, and his dress robes made him look like one of those models out of Muggle magazines that Lavender and Parvati were always cooing over.

She could see why Ron would be worried. She tossed the newspaper into the fire, letting it curl and turn black in the remnant ashes of Ron's forced departure. She left it there and retreated to her room to get dressed so she could have breakfast with Ginny and Harry.

**~~DM&HG~~**

"I swear I'm not late," she shouted from the fireplace as she exited, her gray slacks dirty with soot. She tapped her wand on her thigh and it disappeared. She glanced around the small living room, where Albus was sitting on his plump bottom in his playpen, watching the fireplace.

"Hey there, little buddy," Hermione cooed, scooping him up. "Did you miss your Aunt Mia?"

Albus gurgled happily and clapped his hands together, successfully catching a few strands of Hermione's still damp hair.

"Albie, who's here?" Said the voice of Ginny, and Harry's wife swept into the living room, wearing a short apron and a sweater. "Is it Auntie Mia?"

"Myaaa!" Albus shouted into Hermione's ear. Hermione screwed up her face with the noise, drawing a laugh from her friend.

Ginny reclaimed her son and placed him back in the playpen. "He's having his solo play time while we finish up the cooking," she said. "We want his imagination to develop so his magic comes into play as early as five," she confided.

Hermione was impressed. "Have you been reading those parenting books again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and pointed in the direction of Harry's silhouette. Harry chose that moment to bound in from the garden, where he was plucking fresh tomatoes for breakfast. He gave Hermione a quick hug, holding the dirty tomatoes away from her, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I heard you had a rude awakening," he said knowingly. Hermione gave him a chuckle while Ginny looked expectant.

"What? What happened? I didn't hear anything!" She exclaimed. The sound of her baby drew her attention momentarily; she jogged to the doorway to make sure he was only playing before she returned. "What's going on?"

"Ron woke me up this morning to some _Prophet _article that he didn't like," Hermione said. "He seems to think I'm dating Draco Malfoy because we had a business meeting."

Ginny laughed and returned to her cooking. "So he finally graced you with his blundering presence," she said. "He comes her a lot to ask about you."

Harry nodded solemnly behind Ginny's back. "He seems to think he'll eventually get you back, but I think he may have taken a few steps backward this morning."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I will always love Ronald, but not like that," she said. "Sorry," she directed at Ginny, who shrugged.

"Brother or not, he's a right git sometimes," she said, chopping tomatoes. "I don't blame you."

"So what were you and Malfoy talking about anyway?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, Harry, not you too!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry laughed. "No judgment, just curious. I've worked with him indirectly a few times, and he's been respectful the whole time. I don't doubt that you could have a civil conversation with the man about work."

Hermione sighed, relieved. "I would love to talk about it, but it's confidential."

"Must be big," Harry answered simply.

Hermione gave him a brief smile of thanks for his patience and got up to help Ginny cook. Ginny waved her away with her spoon, charming the dishes to start washing themselves and the tomatoes to soften on the stove.

"You want to help, go get the high chair for Al," she said. Hermione obliged, and sat the squirming baby in it. He squealed happily. Ginny placed a small plate of scrambled eggs in front of him and placed omelets in front of everyone else.

"This looks delicious," Hermione gushed as they all dug in. It wasn't long before the plates were empty and the chatter had dulled to a comfortable silence. Harry sat with his arm around his wife, twirling a spare piece of her long, red hair around his finger while he prodded his son in the belly, tickling him. Hermione watched with content.

_Tap tap tap._

"Owl!" Albus screeched. "Owl!"

Hermione ruffled his soft, black hair as she opened the window. The large brown owl waddled up to her and stuck its leg out, waiting patiently for her to remove the scroll.

"Looks like it's for you," Ginny said.

The stationary was official St. Mungos stationary. Hermione felt a vague sense of dread fall over her as she opened the letter. As her eyes quickly scanned the text, her face went whiter and whiter until Harry stood up and placed an arm on her elbow to steady her.

"What is it?" Harry asked gently. "Mione, what's going on?"

"Narcissa Malfoy is dead," she breathed. "She was killed by a house elf, who was found to be under the Imperius curse. I have to go."

Ginny quickly stood. "Wait, why?"

"They want to execute the house elf, even though she committed murder under an Unforgiveable," Hermione said hurriedly. "And because she doesn't have human rights, they can do that if I don't get there in time."

"Go!" Harry said. "Don't worry about explaining it, go!"

Hermione gave him a quick hug and turned on the spot, Apparating to the place she never wanted to be again: Malfoy Manor.


	2. Two Men, Three Lives

**A/N: Thanks for looking at this story, I appreciate all feedback!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Chapter Two: Two Men, Three Lives.**

For the past seven years, Draco Malfoy had struggled to repair his life, left in shambles after the final battle with both Snape and Dumbledore dead. He had been forced to watch his entire family put on trial, decimated in front of the Wizengamot, and had to then live through his own trial. He had been sure that his life was forfeit. In fact, he had spoken just the day before his acquittal to Kingsley Shaklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, and asked him to send a dementor to his cell in Azkaban the day after the trial would end. He had planned to end his life rather than follow darkly in his father's footsteps.

It had been Loony Luna Lovegood that saved him, though to this day he could not understand why. She had spoken to no one, not Draco's defense lawyer, not the prosecution, not even the Golden Trio, before she strode into the court proceedings and offered to vouch for the character of the wretched Draco Malfoy.

She was not the only life he saved during the war. After Dobby's death, he sent anonymous owls to Bill and Arthur Weasley, informing them of the Horcruxes and where they were hidden. Unfortunately, neither Bill nor Arthur knew what Horcruxes were, and couldn't help the Golden Trio track them down. He had been the one to hand Neville Longbottom the sword of Gryffindor when he dropped it during the fight; he had been the one to stun Bellatrix right before Molly Weasley killed her. He pulled Hermione out of the way of a Crucio curse when she wasn't looking and saved Pansy Parkinson's entire family when she came crying to him before the final battle.

Pansy and her family had always been tertiary supporters of Lord Voldemort; enough to stay safe, but not enough to be sent on missions for the Dark Lord. As the final battle edged closer, Voldemort started requiring more Death Eaters, and had chosen Pansy's father and mother as his newest recruits. Pansy found Draco after one of the meetings and begged him to help her smuggle her parents out of the country. That night, Draco slipped the Parkinsons pouches of Galleons, new identities, and a Portkey to Italy. A year ago, Pansy and her family returned to Britain to thank him.

No, he had not saved just Luna; but he had killed more than he saved.

After his acquittal, the media dogged Draco so much that he fled to France, where he underwent therapy to counteract his post-traumatic stress disorder, mandated by the Ministry. He went to a wizarding University, where he obtained his degree in Magical Law in less than three years, and began tacitly working in international relations under a different name.

When the Ministry of Magic found out that Vincent Marlowe was, in fact, Draco Malfoy, they asked the French Ministry to fire him; they refused, arguing that Draco was the only litigator the British Ministry would receive from France and if they wanted him gone, their allied forces would follow. Draco appealed directly to the Minister, begging for him to let him keep his job. Kingsley obliged, but only if Draco would do him a very large favor. That favor led him to Hermione Granger.

He had been reluctant at first, thinking he would get hexed the second he walked into her office, but she was kind, if cautious, and he couldn't help but notice that she had matured almost as much as he had. Her office was all dark wood and blue, classic furniture with a small vase of everlasting flowers on the corner of her desk. Her clothes, while unusual, were tasteful and modest, her hair tamed, and she had even added small, black-rimmed glasses to her already bookish aura that he found newly charming.

He had been taken aback by Hermione Granger, but he remained on his guard. He didn't want her to see the old Draco Malfoy again; his job couldn't handle that. But, at that very moment, standing over the body of his mother, Draco Malfoy felt his old self rising like bile in the back of his throat.

"Get that house elf and bring her to me now!" He shouted. Ministry officials scattered at the sound of his voice, leaving him alone with his mother's body. The small bruises around her neck were the only imperfections on her pale face; she had been a beauty to behold. Draco eyed the bruises with distaste. It seemed wrong that his mother, one of the bravest and most powerful witches he had ever known, died a Muggle death.

Malfoys never die a Muggle death.

He growled low in his throat and drew his wand, pointing it at the marble walls of the Manor, the wall exploding into crumbling rubble. The Ministry officials on the other side screamed and ran for cover.

"I thought I told you to bring me that house elf!" He roared, his pale face going red with the force of it all. "Bring her to me _now_!"

As he stared at their frightened faces, pieces of the wall started flying into place, forming a life sized puzzle that resembled Draco's own fractured life; repaired, but with the cracks still showing.

"They aren't going to bring her to you, Malfoy," said a soft voice. "She is at the Ministry already, her statement being taken."

He knew he needed to watch his step, to think about his future, but he didn't have the self-control. "She killed my mother, now _bring her back here_!"

Granger didn't flinch at his tone, her expression didn't change. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Malfoy," she said formally. "You do not have jurisdiction here, and with your conflict of interest –"

"I don't give a damn about procedure, Granger, you get her back here now! She will pay for this!"

"She will pay for this, but she shouldn't have to!" Granger's voice was starting to match his now. "They want to kill her for this, but she was under the Imperius curse. Someone else wanted your mother dead, now don't you want to know who that was before you have your only lead killed?"

The silence rang in the air; Draco could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest so hard he could see it, and Granger seemed not to want to look at him. He understood then. She felt sorry for him, sorry for having to do this to him. He felt a swoop of rage at her pity, squashed almost instantly by humiliation.

"Get out, Granger," he said quietly.

"I can't," she replied, just as quietly. "I have to process the scene, ask questions," she paused. "I have to do my job."

Her voice had gotten closer; she had moved closer. He felt a pull to her comforting diligence, the guarantee that she would do everything she was supposed to do and more to fix this. It was Granger, after all.

"You will…" he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

Hermione's hand went to his shoulder. "I will," she answered.

"Then go," he whispered faintly. She nodded, he could feel it, and slipped a paper into his hand. It was an address, for an apartment in Muggle London.

"I have a spare bedroom," she said to his questioning glance. "I assume you don't want to be here tonight, and I have a bottle of firewhiskey with today written all over it."

He gave her the smallest smile she had ever seen, but didn't answer her. She took that as a maybe and left him there, holding her address in his hand, in the middle of an empty hall with the body of his mother.

**~~DM&HG~~**

It took Hermione all day to process the Manor. She had to send agents into every single room of the entire estate to gather fingerprint evidence and to identify all traces of magic. Unfortunately, the house was huge and ancient, so infused with pure magic that most of her evidence was tainted. She managed, however, to gather a few possible suspects from the evidence that remained.

Blaise Zambini, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy.

She felt the need to cross Lucius off her list almost immediately. He hadn't escaped from Azkaban, he had no way of casting an Imperius curse without a wand, and had been delirious in his cell for the past two years. Blaise and Rodolphus remained.

"Mitzy, what can you tell me about the visitors your Mistress received in the past few weeks?" Hermione asked the trembling house elf graciously.

"Mitzy is not allowed to speak of it, especially to Mudbloods," the house elf managed to spit out, crossing her dirty arms over her oven mitt dress. "Mitzy is bound by secrecy."

Hermione sighed. "Mitzy, if you don't tell anyone who cast the curse on you, we won't be able to find who wanted to kill your mistress. Don't you love your mistress?"

Mitzy burst into angry tears. "Of course Mitzy loved her mistress!" She wailed. "Mitzy should never have let anyone see her mistress!" She leapt off the chair she was sitting in and threw herself, large dribbling nose-first, right into the door, which slammed open against the wall.

"Mitzy, stop!" Hermione grabbed the house elf, who hissed something about 'Mudbloods touching Mitzy' and tossed her back into the chair. "If you won't talk to me, is there someone else you will talk to?"

Mitzy shook her head. "Mitzy will not speak. Mitzy is bound by secrecy."

"Yes, yes, bound by secrecy and all that," Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "Mitzy, if you don't tell me, you will die," she said. "Do you understand?"

"Mitzy is bound by secrecy."

"Oh, bugger it," Hermione said, stepping away from the house elf, who started mumbling about Mudbloods and blood traitors again. "Annie! Get someone in here to take Mitzy to her cell, please."

Before long, Mitzy was being carried out the door by two agents, one on each side, to take her to her holding cell in the basement of the Ministry to await further questioning. Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. What was she going to tell Malfoy?

She hadn't meant to give him her address; she figured he would throw it back at her. She most certainly hadn't meant to yell at him while he was staring at his mother's body. She shivered at the thought of being in that room again, where Narcissa Malfoy's body was lying, in the same spot Hermione had been lying when Bellatrix carved the word "Mudblood" into her arm. Her hand went almost involuntarily to the faint scar, almost faded with time.

She Flooed back to her apartment, feeling slightly disappointed when she found it empty. Sighing, she wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment and fed it into the fire, sending it to Ron's new flat, across town. Before long, he had materialized in her fireplace, brushing off the soot on his robes.

"I'm sorry!" They both exclaimed at the same time. Hermione laughed, Ron ran his hand through his unruly red hair.

"I shouldn't have barged in here while you were sleeping," Ron added.

"I shouldn't have kicked you out, that was rude," Hermione replied.

"Friends?" He asked, holding out his arms.

"Friends," Hermione confirmed, giving him a hug. Ron kissed the top of her head and pulled away, crumpling up her note and tossing it into the fire behind him. Hermione stepped away from him and retreated to the kitchen.

"Want a cuppa?" She asked from behind a cabinet door.

"Sure," Ron answered, slipping his shoes off at the entrance of the kitchen, like he used to. He took a seat in the adjoining dining room as Hermione put water in the kettle and waited for her to join him.

"I went to Malfoy Manor today," Hermione said, taking the seat across from him. She paused, waiting for Ron to explode. When he didn't, she looked up into his clear blue eyes.

"Go on…" he prompted.

"Oh," she paused. "I had to go get a house elf from the Manor because…" she paused again. "I shouldn't say."

"Then why bring it up?"

"Because it's the _Manor_, Ronald!"

His face looked, if possible, less pink than usual. "Oh," he replied. "Are you okay?"

She nodded absently. "But the house elf won't be."

Ron put a hand tenderly on her shoulder. "Well, you can't save them all, right?" he said cautiously. When she looked even more distressed, he moved his hand to her hair, where he combed gently. She closed her eyes reverently.

"Yeah, I guess I can't," she whispered. "I just feel sorry for Malfoy."

The combing stopped momentarily. "Why?"

Her eyes opened. "His mother's dead."

Ron looked alarmed. "Dead? How?"

Hermione related the entire story to him, including her odd desire to give Malfoy her address. He snorted derisively at the mention of the youngest Malfoy, but stopped himself when Hermione raised an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and gave him her most severe expression. Ron looked abashed until Hermione started smiling.

"I know you don't like him, but he's different," she said. "That sounds cliché…"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Ron said with a small eye roll. "But I will watch my mouth…for you."

Hermione gave him a gracious smile and retrieved his empty tea cup. "Thank you, Ronald."

"Hey, Mione?" Came her voice from behind her.

She knew the question before he even asked it, but she let him continue.

"Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? As…as a date?" Ron's ears, she knew without looking, were red. She paused for a second, her hand on the tea cup. She tried to think of the cons of this situation. There were too many to count. But the pro, that she could somehow repair her tenuous relationship, was much too valuable.

"Sure," she said. "But we keep it casual. Don't take me somewhere expensive, don't dress up, and don't try any funny business."

Ron smiled as she scolded. "Yes, Mother," he said. He gave her a swift kiss on the lips before he started to the fireplace. As he was grabbing a handful of Floo powder, the fireplace lit up and the built form of Draco Malfoy was unfolding himself from the fire, brushing soot off his expensive robes. When he saw Ron and Hermione, he paused.

"Am I…interrupting?" He asked, his eyes the only part of him that moved. "You…told me to come by…" he said to Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione said instantly, her voice higher than usual. "Yes, and no, you aren't interrupting. Ron was just…going," she locked eyes with Ron and gave him a forced nod. He eyed Malfoy for a second before offering his hand.

"Nice to see you, Malfoy," he said stiffly. Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

Malfoy looked confused, but took Ron's hand. "Mr. Weasley."

Ron smirked. "See you…Friday, Mione?"

Hermione gave him a brief nod, ushering him to the fireplace. In a matter of seconds, Ron was gone, and Hermione and Malfoy were alone.

**~~DM&HG~~**

Granger was nervous; Draco wasn't a fool. She had ushered the Weasel out of the house so fast he had to keep himself from teasing her about it. But since they had been left alone she had gone back into the kitchen and retrieved the aforementioned bottle of firewhiskey, two glasses, and had set them on the coffee table in the lounge.

Draco felt like a mess, but he didn't look it. When he felt bad, he made sure his outward appearance offered the complete opposite, and he knew it often worked. He had already caught Granger looking appreciatively at his suit. But he could still feel the pity in her eyes, and that he did not like.

"Did you forget how to drink, Granger?" He asked quietly. She, who had been glancing into space in deep thought, jumped.

"Help yourself," she waved her hand dismissively.

Draco cracked open the bottle and poured himself and Granger a healthy dose. "Here," he said, passing it over. "You look like you need it."

She absentmindedly took it and sipped. Her small nose wrinkled at the taste, but she didn't cough. "Thanks."

"If you don't mind me asking –"

"Ron asked me out again," she cut him off, her eyes still focused on something he couldn't see.

Draco narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I thought you two were already together?"

Granger gave him a small, sideways grin. "Nope. Haven't been for two years. I mean, I guess I understand why he would ask me out again, at least I think I do. But why? He's an international Quidditch player and a war hero, he doesn't need to settle for the girl he's known for years. I mean, do I even want to be with him again? I don't even know what I want. And then there's you."

Draco, who had been listening to the rambling with an amused smirk, looked taken aback. "What about me?"

Granger, who must have realized what she said, blushed magnificently. "Not like that," she assured him. "I mean, the tabloids are going to be publishing our picture together a lot, especially with the Tournament and all," she reasoned. "So, Ron's naturally jealous personality isn't going to like that at all, and he's going to like it even less if we get back together."

"So don't get back together," Draco said automatically.

"But, I loved him, you know?"

"Sure," Draco answered unhelpfully.

After a moment of silence, she slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Malfoy! I'm so insensitive, I'm so sorry!"

Now he was really confused. "What?"

"Your mother!"

Draco's face fell. Her distress had been so entertaining, he had let his mother slip from his mind. "It's okay, Granger, you didn't know her."

"But she was your mother."

"I know that, thank you," Draco's voice was sharp, and Granger fell silent. He let her stay that way a moment before, "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"The boy I used to know was rude," was her quiet response. Draco looked straight ahead, away from her. He could vaguely see, out of the corner of his eye, Granger refill her glass and then his. He took the offered class and knocked the whole thing back. She did the same, wincing slightly.

"I wish I could say I'm sorry for that," he answered. Granger turned to him momentously. She looked like she was trying to focus on him, to undress his intentions.

"But you're not," she said accusingly.

"I feel like if I was different to you, you wouldn't have turned out as spectacularly as you did," he shrugged. "Not that I had that big of an effect on you. Just…" he paused. "Don't want to mess up what obviously worked."

He refilled his glass while she tried to come up with an answer.

"What happened to you?"

"Too much," he said. "Maybe I'll tell you one day."

Her small hand had somehow fallen onto his wrist. Draco emptied his glass and let the fire spread throughout his limbs. He grabbed the entire bottle and took a large gulp. Granger chuckled and claimed it from him, taking her own gulp. She gave him the bottle back and returned her attention to her other hand.

She pushed his sleeve up until she could see the Dark Mark. Her daintly, cold fingers traced the snake and then the skull with an almost respectful hesitance. Draco's steely eyes travelled from her hand up to her face.

"Granger, what are you looking for?"

Her voice was less than a whisper, her words slightly slurred. "What do you mean?"

"With me. Why did you ask me here?"

He could see uncertainty in her eyes, and felt her answer blossoming in his stomach. "I don't know."

His right hand set the bottle on the table and claimed her cheek. "Yes, you do. Be brave, Gryffindor."

"I wanted to see who you were," was her modest answer.

"Why?"

"Because you aren't Malfoy anymore," she said, her voice only slightly stronger. "You're Draco. You're different."

"I told you, Granger," Draco's voice was low in his throat. He could feel her pulse speeding up under his hand. Her blush was returning. "It's been seven years. That boy doesn't exist anymore."

And he kissed her. Desperately, in grief, and almost accidentally, he threw himself off a cliff.


	3. Three Sunrises With No Sunsets

**A/N: Once again, thank you for the reviews! Oh, and a reviewer asked me to remove the "Ron" character tag because within the first chapter I had "not done justice to Ron and Hermione's friendship." Well, reviewer, I'm sorry you feel that way, but it was the first chapter, and the relationship and friendship has yet to develop in this story. So, no, I'm not going to remove the character tag, but I am sorry if that offends you or if my writing isn't "good enough" for Ron. (EDIT: Holy shit guys, I'm so sorry I haven't posted this earlier. I had to wrap up my first graduate semester and that was a fuckload of terrible writing that I hated, and I knew this would be a distraction. But I'm back now, so let's wrap up this chapter, shall we?)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. **

**Chapter Three: Three Sunrises With No Sunsets**

His mouth was warm, soft, but commanding, and he tasted like something Hermione couldn't quite place. Something she always craved, like candy, but could never attain. She allowed herself a few moments of his mouth before she pushed him away gently. She kept her hands on his chest, as if to calm the thundering in his heart. He seemed aware of what he had done; his eyes were darting anywhere but her.

"Malfoy, what are you looking for?" She asked, throwing his question back at him.

He still refused to look at her. "I don't know," he replied, and it sounded like honesty. "A distraction –"

A small thud of disappointment filled Hermione's arms, and they fell from Malfoy's chest. She reclaimed them, hiding her hands under her legs, as if she didn't trust them. "Oh." And here she thought he was attracted to her.

"Or comfort," he finished. "I didn't mean to…" he motioned to the whole situation.

Hermione nodded. "It just happened, I know," she said. She stood, swaying slightly on her still unsteady feet. "I'll make up the guest room for you," she said over her shoulder. She quickly left the room, so Malfoy couldn't see her face turning bright red. She hadn't meant to kiss him, that was true. But she hadn't meant to like it; she wanted to forget he had ever kissed her. She had the sneaking feeling now that she would never forget. She let her fingers hover before her lips. She had kissed him back. Was she cheating on Ron? Were they even back together? She sighed heavily.

"You still want me to stay here?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "You aren't –?"

"I'm not embarrassed, Malfoy," Hermione's voice came from the guest room. Malfoy followed it.

And the realization must have hit him. "You kissed me back," he breathed.

"Uh huh," she was busying herself with sheets and pillows on the bed. She was ignoring him now. She could almost feel his impatience radiating off of him.

"Granger," he said, trying to reclaim her attention. "What were you doing?"

"Making the bed."

"I mean, kissing me. Why did you kiss me back?" He asked. "All you had to do was call out for Weasley or Potter and have my head on a platter in a matter of seconds."

"I didn't want to," she said quickly.

Malfoy stepped closer to her swiftly. "Didn't want to what? You didn't want to kiss me or you didn't want me to stop?"

The silence grew, stagnant and uncomfortable.

Malfoy was standing behind Hermione now, waiting for her to turn around. She refused, fiddling with one of the pillows. She could feel his breath on her neck, slowly getting warmer. He was getting closer.

His lips touched the soft part of her skin where her neck met her shoulder, and she automatically leaned back, into Malfoy's chest. His hands kept her there, on either side of her arms, while he traced tantalizing swirls on her arms with his fingers. She closed her eyes, letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. His lips, still on her neck, moved slowly up to her jawline, where they paused.

Hermione reached up and grasped Malfoy's hands in each of her own, and his mouth resumed his sweet torture on her neck, newly encouraged. She felt an unexplainable pull, and found herself facing him, her hands on his chest again. He smirked down at her, but the smirk was soft, not mocking. She kissed it off his face and started unbuttoning his shirt.

His hands caught her before she managed to undo more than two buttons.

"Where are we going with this?" He asked again. "I don't want to push you into doing something –"

"To bed, Draco," Hermione interrupted. "We're going to bed."

**~~DM&HG~~**

Draco woke up the next morning in a haze of delirium punctured by the drum beat in his skull. Through the skin of his eyelids, the sun shined annoyingly, making his world a bright pink color that offended him greatly. He tried to cover his face with his arm, but found he was unable to move it. Quickly, he opened his eyes, and found a mane of brown curls covering his arm, snoring quietly and peacefully.

Oh. _Right. _

They didn't have sex; that much Draco was sure of. He remembered insisting that they didn't, in case she would regret it in the morning. To his knowledge of Hermione Granger's personality, she would be mortified just at the thought of taking Draco Malfoy into her bed and getting naked with him. He didn't need to add the act of having sex to that list for her.

He wondered why he cared what humiliated Granger. It wasn't his responsibility to make sure she didn't let her hair down. They had certainly never been friends. He didn't care about her in any grandiose way; that was the Weasel's territory, and he didn't plan to tread upon it. But, as he watched her sleeping soundly on his arm, he felt a small smile fall on his lips.

In school, they had always been enemies; she was the only one of the Golden Trio that had the guts to actually hit him ever within their six years of school together. He admired that kind of bravery, bravery that he didn't have. And he had to admit, if only to himself, that he had been sickened to see her being tortured by his aunt. He hadn't cared about her then, either.

But he cared a little about her now.

She had always been his favorite of the three do-gooders, though if that was any accomplishment, it was hard to say. He hated Potty and the Weasel with such a force that he felt it could move planets. Granger, on the other hand…

She had been some kind of kindred soul, he could see that even from afar. They both had a penchant for knowledge, though Draco rarely got his from a book. They both had obscenely large and unattainable goals for themselves. They both knew the power of redemption, and the pain of being a burden.

Draco carefully maneuvered his arm out from under her neck, being extra careful with her tangle of curls, and slid his clothes on silently, watching her closely as he did so. She hadn't so much as stirred since he left her side, and she looked as if she could continue to sleep for another few hours at least. Draco left her there and padded like a cat into the lounge, where he picked up the firewhiskey bottle and the two glasses he and Granger had left there last night. He placed them in the sink quietly, eyeing a bouquet of carnations on the counter, shining a bright, obscene pink that made him wrinkle his nose.

Those hadn't been there last night.

Draco stole one glance back at the sleeping lump in the bed to make sure Granger wasn't stirring before he searched the flowers carefully for a card. Finding one amongst the stems, he pulled it out carefully to reveal an untidy scrawl.

"Mione, can't wait for Friday, Love, Ron"

Draco clenched his jaw and replaced the card, careful to leave all the hideous carnations intact. He glanced around the kitchen, where he had originally been planning to make tea and breakfast, and back to the flowers. He felt the unexplainable urge to punch a hole in the painted wall, and steeled himself against his baser urges. Why did he care anyway?

Maybe because she had taken him into her bed not five hours before and had spent most of the night whispering a name that was certainly not Ronald fucking Weasley. He wanted to yank his hair out with the unfairness of it all. It wasn't that he deserved someone like Granger, he didn't even know if he wanted her. But it wasn't fair that she spend the night with him while she was waiting for her boyfriend to come around.

It wasn't fair.

Draco shook his head, jaw still clenched, and made a decision. He stormed quietly into the living room, where he grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment to write a note. He scribbled something in his tiny handwriting and left it on the table before he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and went back to Malfoy Manor.

**~~DM&HG~~**

The sound of Hermione's fireplace woke her from a wonderful dream. She had been snuggled close to someone's warm chest, their hand in her hair. She stretched, and reached over to where Malfoy had been sleeping. When she felt nothing but cold sheets, she straightened up and looked around. Her ears strained for any sound foreign to her. Nothing.

"Malfoy?" She called out, her voice ringing through the empty house.

She swung her feet to the floor and let her toes seek out her clothes, in a pile next to the bed. She quickly dressed and tied a robe on, her ears listening intently the whole time. By the time she was dressed, Hermione knew Malfoy wasn't there. A cold feeling of disappointment that she couldn't explain settled on her.

She shuffled into the kitchen to make tea; the carnations caught her eye. She knew they were from Ron without even looking at the tag, pink was his way of being romantic. Hermione rolled her eyes. Hadn't she just told him not to make a big deal out of their date?

Their date. Hermione let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter, her hands on her head. She had completely forgotten she had even agreed to go out with him; Malfoy had chased all thoughts of Ron from her head. She felt horrible, she felt like she betrayed her best friend. But worst of all, she felt a sneaking suspicion that this was why Malfoy was gone.

She went into the living room, searching for the tell-tale signs of Floo travel. Sure enough, there was soot on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a note on the coffee table. Cursing under her breath, Hermione picked up the note, struggling to read the miniscule handwriting.

"Funeral to plan," it read simply. Hermione exhaled the nervous breath she had been holding and collapsed on the couch. Okay, so Malfoy was gone to plan his mother's funeral. That wasn't out of the ordinary for someone who just lost a family member and got naked with his once mortal enemy, right?

Wrong. Hermione felt a nagging bit of uncertainty that manifested in a spot on her breastbone that started to itch. Something was weird, she just couldn't put her finger on it. She quirked her lips in contemplation and stayed buried in her mind while she took a hot shower, got dressed, and made breakfast. By the time she was done, she still hadn't figured out what was irritating her so, and she hadn't heard a peep from Malfoy.

But why would he be upset by flowers in her kitchen? Sure, she and Malfoy had done…things, last night, but they weren't dating. He would never date someone like her! It was just…comfort…what they did. He was grieving for his mother, and they were both drunk. Weirder things have happened, she tried to convince herself. But no, not many weirder things had happened than Malfoy kissing her, and certainly even Luna Lovegood was less weird than Hermione inviting him into her bed.

Hermione wished she could say it was because he looked sad. She wished she could claim that he was desperate for physical companionship after the loss of his mother. But what Hermione had seen in Malfoy's eyes last night had not been grief, it had not been sadness. It was curiosity, amusement, and lust.

Her stomach clenched just thinking about it.

But where was he now? Somewhere else, without even bothering to wake her up when he left. Hermione forced herself to shrug off his absence as simply something Malfoy would do, and she left for her office, carrying a travel mug of coffee.

**~~DM&HG~~**

By Friday afternoon, Draco's small, insignificant flare of jealousy and anger had turned into a full-fledged forest fire, and he found himself pacing continuously around the Manor's drawing room, the house elves watching warily from the kitchen doors, waiting for him to stop. He didn't need to be at the Manor anymore; he had buried his mother the day before in the Malfoy mausoleum. No one was left to occupy the house, but Draco had his own flat, close to the Ministry.

But he didn't want to deal with going back there. Granger didn't know where he lived, and he hoped, rather subconsciously, that she would come looking for him, and he wanted to be found.

He couldn't explain why he felt the need to take the backseat when it came to her. He had let her dictate everything they had done in bed a few nights ago, he had left the ball in her court, leaving himself open to blatant rejection. And that was just what she was doing, wasn't she? How could she have seen that he was gone, with only a few words written as a note, and not gone looking for him?

The very real possibility that she was ashamed of their night together had lodged itself in his brain, and Draco was having a very hard time dislodging it. Why else would she run from him? Why wouldn't she come looking for him, especially since they were supposed to be partners in his new assignment? Truth be told, he had hardly even looked at the file on the Triwizard Tournament since their first meeting, but he thought Granger was a tireless bookworm! Shouldn't she be barging in here with her stupid glasses perched on her nose and stupidly large book balanced in her arms, griping about something or another?

Shaking his head, Draco took another turn in his endless walk of turns in the drawing room. This was getting ridiculous. He was Draco Malfoy, and he was not going to stand here waiting for Hermione Granger to come to his mother's house. Before he could talk himself out of it, he stalked over to the fireplace, grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, and spoke Granger's address.

The warm flames felt almost too hot as he realized what he was doing. Draco closed his eyes against the shameful blush that was spreading across his face. Luckily, it would be faded by the time he landed in her fireplace.

He slid gracefully out of the grate, leaving barely any soot, and shook off quickly. "Granger!" he called. "We need to talk."

He heard movement coming from her bedroom, but he resisted the urge to look. Within half a minute, Hermione, wrapped in a towel, was sliding into the living room, looking confused.

"Malfoy?" She asked incredulously, as if she wasn't looking at him. "What are you doing here?"

Draco found himself surprisingly taken with the small pools of water collecting in the indentions of her collarbone; he had to wrench himself out of his thoughts to respond.

"You've been avoiding me," he said simply, unable to think of anything else while she was standing in front of him, dripping wet, and he was remarkably familiar with how her flesh felt in his hands.

She seemed to sense his thoughts. "Well…yes, sort of, but only because I thought you were angry with me for something," she stammered, clutching at the towel. "Would you mind if I got dressed?" she asked.

"Yes," Draco responded immediately, without thinking. She stared at him. "Yes, I would mind. I quite like you how you are, thank you."

Her face and chest turned a magnificent pale pink. "Malfoy, about the other night…"

"We should do it again."

She looked, if possible, even more confused. "I thought, maybe, it was because you were drunk, or upset, or –,"

The fireplace flared to life and a redheaded man unfolded himself in Granger's living room. Draco felt the tension in the room triple. Ron took one look at Draco and scowled tremendously, and turned to Granger, his ears turning dark red.

"What is going on here?" He asked, trying not to sound too angry. Draco expected he was trying not to upset Granger.

Granger looked, if possible, even more mortified than she had a few seconds ago. "Umm…Malfoy popped in to ask me a question about work and I had just gotten out of the shower. I thought it was you, and I didn't want you to be waiting so…" she trailed off, unable to form a real excuse as to why she and Draco were making eyes at each other while she was naked.

Ron didn't look like he believed her, but didn't ask. "Okay, Mione. How about you go get dressed? We have reservations in an hour." He gave Granger a swift kiss on the lips, once again igniting Draco's jealousy, and nudged her in the direction of her room.

"I think it's time for you to go," Ron said without turning to Draco.

"Excuse you?"

Ron turned to him fully. "I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Malfoy, but Hermione is my girlfriend. And she will stay my girlfriend."

"Last I checked, you two hadn't been a couple for two years," Draco said quietly, very aware of the possibility of being heard.

"That is none of your business," Ron snarled. "We are together now, and that's what matters. And don't think I don't know you didn't just 'drop in.'"

Draco was slightly taken aback. "Oh really? And how, pray tell, do you know that?"

"Because there's a puddle of water on the floor where she had been standing," Ron said simply. "She had been standing there for a while."

Draco stayed silent.

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy."

"I beg to differ," Draco replied, stepping around Ron to Granger's bedroom door.

"Get away from there!"

Calmly, Draco knocked on the door lightly. "Granger?" He called. "I'm leaving. I'll see you tomorrow for tea and work." He winked at Ron one more time to rile him up before tossing another handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and said "Malfoy Manor!"


End file.
